Necropolis of Angels
by D3athz-C4lling
Summary: When his baby boy meets his early demise, Arthur brings him back to life by placing the corpse in an ancient burial ground. He'll soon learn that the dead are better off dead, and that he must reap what he sow. Contains cannibal!toddler Alfred and gore.
1. Das Omen

**A/N: **Happy Halloween! And what better way to celebrate than to post a horror fic? But because I'm a very uncreative person, the concept of this story is based off of the great Stephen King's Pet Semetary. And each chapter is titled after a song by the German musical project E Nomine (they're awesome!). This was originally an English homework assignment...

**Warning:** Swearing, human names used, AU, character death (duh...), violence, gore, cannibalism, animal abuse

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, Pet Semetary, Stephen King, and E Nomine and their songs in any way

**Chapter 1: Das Omen (The Omen)**

* * *

"Don't get the wrong idea, frog. I'm only having this picnic with you because my son seems to be fond of you," Arthur Kirkland growled at the blond smirking at him.

"Oui, of course mon cher. That, and the fact that I'm the only one who can prepare a decent meal for us all," Francis Bonnefoy replied ever so politely.

"Just what is it that you are implying about my cooking?"

"Why, nothing at all,"

"Twat!"

While the two were at it, Matthew Williams held two-year-old Alfred Kirkland in his arms. "Isn't this a peaceful day?"

"Mhm! Can we eat now?" the small boy stared at the food presented on the wooden picnic table.

At the sound of his son's voice, Arthur ceased his bickering and turned to face Alfred. When Matthew passed the boy over to him, any signs that he was even in an argument faded, all replaced by a tender smile as he caressed him. "Of course we can," he cooed while nuzzling the boy's soft, blond hair. He then placed young Alfred on his lap and started unraveling the plastic on some of the dishes and bowls Francis packed.

"My, my, isn't your father so loving towards his son?" Francis whispered into Matthew's ear.

"He has his reasons," the older brother answered vaguely.

"Oh?" Francis looked curiously at the Englishman and his youngest son. Arthur was feeding Alfred pieces of a croissant even though the boy could eat by himself. "And what reasons would those be?"

"It's best not to bring them up," Matthew insisted.

New to the neighborhood, the Kirkland family moved from London, England to a small, quiet town in Maine, America. There were only three of them, for Arthur's wife died shortly after giving birth to Alfred. The doctors have deemed her to be barren, but when the living miracle came to be, he treated Alfred like a porcelain doll, spoiling him…rotten. Before Alfred, in order to fulfill his wife's desire to have a family, Arthur adopted Matthew, who was already a teen. Still, the adopted son from Canada gladly and gratefully lived with the Kirklands; sharing their joy when Alfred was born and grief when his adoptive mother died. His wife's death was too much for the Englishman, and so to hopefully dull the pain in his heart, moved an ocean apart from the place after the funeral. Here, he hoped to start anew with his two sons. After settling in, Arthur found a job as an accountant. Old enough to get a job himself, Matthew became a consultant for a company to help the family. It was at work that the older brother befriended Francis, who was a coworker as well as neighbor. But poor Matthew soon found out that his adoptive father and friend did not get along.

"I know my father won't say it, so on behalf of this family, thank you for bringing over the food for the picnic,"

"No need to thank me, mon cher. What are friends for?" the Frenchman casually placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling fondly.

"Get your filthy hands off my son!" Arthur barked when he saw the display. Politely excusing himself from Alfred with a promise to be right back, he stalked over to the Frenchman.

"You are a truly caring father," Francis tried to flatter Arthur as he approached him.

"Don't give me that frog, what are you trying to do here?"

"Be social to the neighbors of course," he said it as if it was the most obvious answer. "I want Matthew here to feel welcomed to the neighborhood,"

"Is that French for wanting to use my boy for something?"

"Non, but if I am understanding your implication correctly, in French it's…"

Seeing as though the new fight wasn't going to die down for a while, Matthew went over to the other side of the picnic table. "Here Alfred, would you like some crepe?"

"Yes please!" the younger brother was delighted when Matthew sliced off a small piece of the pastry and fed him. Arthur wasn't the only one who liked to baby the youngest member of the family. "Mattie, did daddy really make all this de…delicious food?" Alfred tried pronouncing the long word with a mouthful of crepe.

"Now you know how papa doesn't like for you to talk with your mouth full, Al," Matthew tried to chide. "Oh, but I can't care less," he said while wiping the boy's lips that were split into a smile with a napkin. "And no, he didn't cook this – Francis did."

Alfred looked to where Matthew pointed a finger at the Frenchman who was calmly talking to his father. Lowering himself from his seat, the blond waddled over to the two. When the grown men saw him coming over, Arthur immediately lowered his voice. Alfred peered into Francis' cerulean eyes with his own bright, blue orbs.

"Mon petit, is something wrong?" Francis spoke up when the boy just gazed at him.

"T-thank you for the food!" Alfred shyly said, lowering his head.

"Ah, you are very welcome, mon cher! It was my pleasure," relief flooded his voice as he picked up the toddler. "And you can call me 'big brother' if you wish."

"Don't give him such a hard thing to say you twat," Arthur blurted out suddenly.

"Big…broder?" Alfred tried.

"Oui, that's it mon cher!" Francis patted his blond hair.

"'We'? Why are you saying that? I don't get it…" the small blond pulled a confused face.

"My dear, 'oui' means 'yes' in French: a language I use in my native country of France. So I'm saying that you said 'big brother' right," the Frenchman gave Alfred a reassuring smile.

"Oh, I get it now!" Alfred beamed.

"Would you like to learn more?"

"Alfred, wouldn't you rather fly a kite now?" Arthur offered before the boy got a chance to answer. It was clear that he was getting irritated that his son was interacting so nicely with his neighbor.

"Okay!" the young blond quickly turned his attention to his father. Francis let him down to join Arthur and the two went off a fair distance from the picnic table.

"Your father gets jealous easily," the blond observed once father and son were out of earshot.

"Like I said before, he has his reasons,"

"Still, there should be a limit, non?"

"Are you saying it's not a good thing that he's being a mother hen?"

Francis draped an arm around Matthew's shoulders. "You two have a future ahead. And I just think it'll be difficult for him later on to let you guys go,"

"Well…once you put it that way-"

"I turn my back on you for a second, and I see this!" Arthur must have had eyes of a hawk, for he was already barreling towards the two once more.

"Papa, it's okay, Francis is just being friendly," Matthew tried to calm his adoptive father.

"That's right mon cher, listen to your son," Francis rubbed it in, squeezing his coworker's shoulder lightly.

"Matthew…are you sure…?"

"You don't have to worry about me, papa. I can take care of myself,"

"Arthur! Alfred!" Francis suddenly shouted, pointing at the small figure disappearing from view.

Arthur whirled his head in the pointed direction, and saw that Alfred was slowly walking away from the grass area with his kite still flying. "Alfred, stop!"

But the boy didn't hear a word. He kept walking away, in the direction the wind was blowing towards the wide road ahead.

The Englishman flitted towards his baby boy, hoping that he'll make it just in time to beat the truck that was speeding along the empty road. Before he could see anything beyond the tall stalks of grass, he heard the screeching of tires. But after that, there were only the echoes of the sound, resonating and dying slowly into silence. By the time he reached the scene, crimson dyed the road, green grass, and chrome bumper of the heavy truck.

The kite ascended into the sky.

X.X.X.X

Because they were still new to the neighborhood, the people who came to Alfred's funeral were few. That didn't prevent Arthur from spending an extravagant amount of money on the procession and small coffin to lay the boy's remnants in. It was a closed-coffin ordeal, for what was left of the boy was just something Arthur did not want to see a second time. From home, they drove slowly to church, and once the mass was out of the way, they carried Alfred to the graveyard and buried him. Once this was done, most of the people who attended dispersed. Then it was time for the paparazzi.

"This is like, totally going to be on the front page!" Feliks enthusiastically declared to his friend.

Toris Lorinaitis, a journalist, nodded solemnly and scratched something into his notepad.

Arthur, far too broken to notice the flashes from the cameras around him, paid no heed to the commotion, hiding his face behind his hands.

"Alright, that's enough." Ludwig, the town's sheriff, said gruffly to the swarming paparazzi. He then stalked around to motion them to leave. When the Pole tried to get a few last shots, his camera lens was covered by a gloved hand.

"Hey! Like-"

"Show some respect, Mr. Lukasiewicz,"

"We're sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We'll take our leave now," Toris came up from behind Feliks to drag him away.

Only when the family and Francis were left, Ludwig went up to Arthur and laid a supportive hand on his shaking shoulders. "I'm very sorry for your loss." He then excused himself from the despairing scene.

"How…how did this happen? Alfred…my baby boy…I'm so sorry!" Arthur finally crumpled to the ground next to the gravestone etched with his son's name.

Sensing that there was nothing they can do for the Englishman, Francis and Matthew stayed back.

A raven perched on a dead tree branch next to the grave, silently sharing their tragedy.

* * *

**Random Endnotes:** Originally, Alfred was supposed to be a baby with the white dress and everything (I thought it would have been cooler like that). There was only one problem: babies can't talk or walk...so I had to make him a toddler instead. It's also around toddler years that children develop stranger anxiety, which explains why Alfred was hesitant to talk to Francis at first. Yeah...I'm being technical...


	2. Mitternacht

**Chapter 2: Mitternacht (Midnight)**

* * *

Although he didn't like his new neighbors because of their constant yelling and disrupting the peace of this neighborhood, Wang Yao couldn't help but feel sorry for the family. He could tell that Arthur was not handling his son's death very well. Everyday, from where he was on his porch, Yao would see Arthur leave his home to go to the cemetery, most likely cleaning Alfred's grave and placing fresh flowers on it. In the middle of the night sometimes, even though he was a street across from the house, the Chinese would hear screaming, followed by glass or porcelain being knocked over accompanied by more anguished howls. It was after the third day that Yao finally decided to invite Arthur over to give him his condolences.

"Arthur, you don't look like you've been sleeping well, aru…I can't blame you though. I'm sure Alfred's in a better place now," Yao tried starting the conversation while offering the man sitting frigidly across from him some tea.

Arthur made no attempt to take the cup into his hands, staring blankly at the amber liquid.

"I know what you're going through right now, how it feels like to lose someone close to you," Yao said earnestly.

The Englishman barely gave him a glance.

Casually taking a sip of his tea, Yao peered over his cup. "In fact, I know what it feels like to kill the person closest to you,"

It may not look it, but Yao knew the blond was listening.

"The odd thing was…he was already dead."

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow, but gave no verbal inquiry.

"On the edge of this town, blockaded by a wall of boulders, is a burial ground. As far as I know, the ancestors of this town used that site to bury their dead…until, in their words, 'the land turned sour'. But people now call the place the 'Graveyard of Angels', because miracles can sometimes happen there,"

"What sort of miracles?" Arthur finally decided to join the conversation.

Yao tried to hide his smirk. "They say that if you bury your dead there, be it human or animal, they'll come back to life…and they do."

In that instant, what looked like hope flashed in Arthur's dull, green eyes.

Catching the glint, Yao quickly warned "But it's not worth the trouble, aru. Once buried there, they return as something else,"

"What do you mean? How would you know?" he quipped, refusing to relinquish the only way to bring back his boy.

"They become evil…demonic shadows of themselves," Yao's expression darkened with grief. "I know from personal experience. My younger brother, Kiku, died a couple of years ago…he was such a quiet and polite young man. When I found out about the ancient burial ground, I immediately placed his body there. He came home at midnight, only to try to kill me…"

"Well? What did you…?"

Yao's brown eyes became glossy. "I had to tie him to a chair and burn him…" the response came out almost inaudibly. "His screaming…the cries of a demon…it was so inhuman…" for a moment, it appeared as though he was caving in on himself. But when the Chinese realized his guest was staring at him incredulously, he straightened up and looked directly at Arthur. "Now do you understand, aru? You should never tamper with life and death. You'll only regret and cause the ones closest to you to suffer, especially the deceased."

"Yes, I understand completely. Thank you so much for having me here." Arthur rose from his seat and promptly but politely excused himself from the porch, crossing the road to his own home.

Yao saw him off warily. The only reason why he even invited the Englishman over and shared his story was to comfort him, to tell him that he sympathized with the man. "What have I done?"

X.X.X.X

_What does he know about life and death? Alfred never even lived yet before he died! How is that fair?_

Arthur steeled himself for what he was about to do. Already on his way to the cemetery, there was a shovel resting on the backseat of the car.

_There's no other time to do this…it must be done now_

Of course Arthur wanted to see Alfred again as soon as possible. Almost right after his wife died, his son followed suit. He wouldn't…couldn't afford to lose another member of his family. But he had to wait until night to execute his plan. Lucky for him, Matthew was out of town to tend to a client. This made it easier for him to leave the house unsuspected. Once in the church's cemetery, Arthur pulled over on the side and made the rest of the journey on foot, shovel and blanket in hand. He didn't need a flashlight – he has trod this path so often now that he could find it even in the darkest of nights. Without even having to check the name of the tombstone, Arthur plunged the shovel into the dirt and began grave robbing his own son's resting place.

_Alfred, daddy's coming for you_

He worked as quickly and quietly as possible, the graveyard as silent as a held breath. Arthur could only hear his own grunts as he parted the soil beneath him until he struck wood. Hastily prying the lid open, the father avoided looking at his son's pale, purple skin.

Decay was already leaving its mark, eating at the boy's face and around his eyes where the bumper struck him. Despite all this, Alfred looked so peaceful…as if only sleeping.

Gently, Arthur removed the corpse from its confines in the coffin and laid him on the blanket, wrapping him up in a cocoon.

"Ve, Ludwig…why are we here? This place is scary…" Arthur froze when he heard Feliciano Vargas whimper not far from where he was standing.

"Just give me a moment, Feliciano. I saw a parked car back there,"

Arthur laid low and remained in the hole he dug out for himself. When he poked his head out, a beam of light swept across the area, highlighting Alfred's name on the gravestone for a second.

"See, nobody's here. Now can we please go back?" the brunette squeaked at his partner, already placing himself in the passenger's seat of the police car.

"Alright…must have been just a person trying to find a place to park his car for the night…" the German deducted while heading back. A moment later, the police car's engine roared to life and the two drove off.

When he deemed it to be safe, Arthur pulled himself up from the grave, careful not to disturb the bundle in his arm. He left the little coffin behind, making it easier for Alfred to crawl out of his new grave once he was buried again. With his shovel, Arthur began dumping the dirt unceremoniously back in to fill up the hole and patted the loose soil to make it look unsuspicious. Once that was done, he gathered his belongings and took off.

He drove on the edge of town until he saw stones piled high on top of each other to his right. What Yao told him didn't prepare Arthur for this. If anything, the wall looked more like a hill of rocks. But this didn't deter the Englishman and his grip around the bundle in his arms tightened.

_I've gone too far to go back now._

With one arm cradling the dead child and the other grasping the shovel, Arthur slowly began his ascent. The climb was not easy. Jagged boulders drew blood from the father's hands while loose ones almost made him join his son. Using the shovel like a pick axe, the blond pulled himself up higher when there was nothing to hold onto. He was so close; he could see the land even out before him. The night dragged on while the full moon gazed at the poor soul trying to bring his son back from the dead. He was about to reach the new graveyard when a rock beneath him gave way, followed by the one he was clutching at with his shovel hand. Arthur fell almost vertically down the steep hill, holding onto Alfred for dear life. The impact of the fall snapped his neck, and from his lifeless arms Alfred rolled out of the blanket, black sockets staring at him.

"What?" Arthur immediately snapped out of the horrid vision when he felt Alfred slide down his limp arm. The father instinctively pulled his child closer to him and glared at the pale moon. "You can't have him!" he yelled at the celestial body. "I won't let you take away my Alfred from me!" With renewed strength and determination, Arthur climbed up the remaining trek faster than before and there he saw the barren wasteland in front of him – the Graveyard of Angels.

The ancient burial ground was a grey plain that stretched out to the dark horizon. Wooden grave markers and crosses scattered about while stone pillars were precisely placed in a radial pattern. In haphazard spots, holes were dug out with piles of dirt next to them – past attempts of reviving the dead.

Ignoring the howling of the wind slipping through the pillars, Arthur began making a hole of his own next to a stone for his dear son. He made it so that the grave was just deep enough to fit the corpse; Arthur surely didn't want his boy to have a hard time crawling out. Before lowering the bundle into the makeshift grave, Arthur lightly pressed his lips on the small, cold forehead and gingerly put back the ashen soil.

_Daddy will see you again soon…_

He then reluctantly turned around, grabbed his shovel, and made his way home, waiting expectantly for someone to knock on his door that night.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea to quell his anxious nerves, Arthur remained seated until midnight. He kept the lights on, hoping that will help Alfred know that he was welcomed home. Exhaustion took its toll on him and he was about to fall asleep at the table when he heard the front door rattle an hour after midnight. Rushing towards the entrance, the father saw tiny mud footprints and a small boy who was the source of them.

Still dressed in the suit at his funeral and dragging a long, dirtied blanket behind him, the toddler looked up at Arthur with clear sapphire eyes. In a mangled voice Alfred greeted "H-hi daddy…I'm home…"

* * *

**A/N:** *bows down* I'm so sorry the story is progressing so slowly...but now that Alfred's back, the real fun can begin...


	3. Wolfen

**Chapter 3: Wolfen (Wolves – The Animal in Me)**

* * *

"Daddy, can I have a pet bunny?" Alfred asked with pleading eyes.

It has been a couple of days since the boy's resurrection, and after practicing to use his voice again, everything was exactly how it was before the accident. As if it never happened at all.

"Of course you can!" Arthur answered without hesitation or thinking. Picking up his living son, he hugged the boy, who returned the gesture in kind. Alfred was so warm, his blond hair as soft as the last time he nuzzled it and skin without blemishes. The bright and cheerful smile he had on his face looked even livelier than Arthur remembered it to be.

"Yay! Thank you daddy!" the child pecked his father's cheeks tenderly. Even his lips were warm and soft.

"You are very welcome, my boy,"

"Papa, I'm back fro-" Matthew stopped dead in his tracks when he stepped foot into the living room. His adoptive father was too absorbed in something that he didn't notice his other son at the doorway. It was that something that made Matthew pale. Alfred, his dead younger brother, was in Arthur's arms…giggling gleefully as he was cradled by his father. To any other person, the scene would have been heart-warming. But Matthew's blood froze in his veins when he saw a pair of blue eyes stare at him. Numb with fear, it took all his might to retreat into the kitchen and await an explanation from his father.

"Now you go outside and play while I make you a snack okay?"

"Okay!~" the little boy scampered out the back door and into the yard.

Arthur sighed contently before making his way to the kitchen when he saw Matthew leaning frigidly against the countertop. "Oh, good day Matthew. I didn't know you already came back from work. How was the trip?"

"Papa, what was…_that_?"

Arthur's expression glowered a bit at the word choice. "Why, _he's_ your brother, Alfred. Don't tell me-"

"Why is he still alive?" the blond interrupted. "Alfred's dead-"

"No he's not!" the father shook his head vehemently and covered his ears with his hands. He also closed his eyes momentarily as a safety measure, clearly rejecting the notion. "Matthew…can't you see? He's alive…my baby boy is alive…"

"…"

When Arthur looked up, he saw that his adopted son was regarding him pensively…or was that disgust in his amethyst eyes? "I suppose you would like an explanation?"

"Please."

"A neighbor informed me of a place where you can bury something there and it will come back to life,"

"How can you just go out and do that based on rumors and superstition?"

"The gamble paid off did it not? Alfred is alive and well once again," Arthur retorted. He was so desperate…willing to do and try anything to have his son back.

"Does Alfred even remember that he died? Arthur, what will happen when he grows up? Won't he wonder why there's a gravestone with his name on it? Also, what if the officials find it weird that Alfred is walking on the streets when he's supposed to be dead?" Matthew hardly used his adoptive father's name, only when matters were truly serious and he needed to get his point across.

"That's enough, Matthew." Arthur said sternly. "Alfred won't know what happened to him if we simply do not bring him to the church cemetery. As for the officials, we'll simply move once I ask for the remains of your mother to be sent over and have her buried at the Graveyard of Angels as well…see Matthew, everything will work out. We'll be a happy family again." With that, the Englishman walked past his adopted son to start baking scones for Alfred.

All words died in Matthew's throat, for it was painfully obvious that his father was not going to acknowledge the eccentricity of having the living dead as a family member. It was also clear that Arthur was not going to consider his doubts, far too obsessed with the fact that Alfred was with him once again.

He was living in another reality.

Before turning his back to Arthur, who was already focusing on mixing the ingredients for the batter, he whispered "…What have you done?"

X.X.X.X

The neighborhood was unusually peaceful. Ever since Yao had that conversation with Arthur, the Englishman's house was so much quieter. The Chinese genuinely hoped that it was because his neighbor finally got over his son's death. But the sick truth behind such tranquility was due to the fact that Arthur really did cross the line. However, there was no proof that he revived Alfred by burying him at the burial ground. That was…until Yao saw a small flash of blond.

_These eyes are just playing tricks on me_

If his eyes really were fooling him, then his ears must have been doing the same thing. There was laughter in the backyard of the Kirkland family's house. Cautiously crossing the road, Yao had to witness for himself what was the source of his anxiety and suspicion.

There was Alfred. He was running around the yard trying to chase down a rabbit that was let out of its cage. From where Yao was standing pressed against the sidewall of the house, he could see that the boy was indeed healthy, unharmed, and living.

"Mr. Yao, is that you?" When he turned his head to the direction of the voice, the young blond was in front of him, rabbit in hand.

Brown eyes widened with shock.

_How did he…_

"Ah…Alfred…did you get a new pet?" he tried to sound as casual as possible.

"Mhm! Daddy got it for me yesterday,"

"Is that so? How is your father lately? And what about you?"

"…Father? He is elated to have me back,"

"What?"

Alfred's voice changed suddenly. It was still his voice, but there was a darker undertone to it…something unearthly…

"But let's not talk about me and my family; let's talk about how you're doing," Alfred suggested.

"O-okay…" Yao didn't know how long he could play along and continue the conversation.

"For starters, does that scar on your back still burn? Are you still riddled with guilt for what you did to Kiku?"

"What are you talking about, Alfred?" his voice was laced with fear by now.

_How did he know?_

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Yao. That night, when you burned your own brother to the ground, did it feel as though you purged yourself of some sort of sin against God?" piercing blue eyes met his quivering ones.

Yao tried to back away from the toddler, but found that he was up against the wall from the beginning. Alfred made no move towards him, but he felt trapped nonetheless.

"I'm still waiting for an answer,"

Finally looking at the boy, Yao said as politely as he could "Please excuse me…Alfred, but I really must get going," the last part of the sentence tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to go around him. Alfred merely followed him with his eyes when Yao slid along the wall of the house, a good distance away from him before flitting across the road and slamming his front door shut.

"Mr. Yao, you should really look both ways before crossing the street," Alfred chided after the Chinese. Nuzzling the white fur of the rabbit still in his hands, he whispered to it "We sure have weird neighbors, huh bunny?~"

X.X.X.X

"Matthew, would it be alright if you look after Alfred for a while? I have to go back to work," Arthur asked of his adopted son. Sorrow was swimming in his emerald eyes, but they weren't for the elder sibling. His long "vacation" has ended, and Arthur needed to return to his workplace before his boss fired him.

"Eh…okay…" Matthew didn't know how to reject the request. But ever since he came home, he would try his hardest not to come into contact with the living dead.

Whether he noticed Matthew's coldness towards Alfred or not, Arthur didn't mind at all; given the opportunity to spend even more time with his real son.

During the day, despite his father's disapproval, Matthew would visit and stay at Francis' home more often and for as long as possible. If not, then he would find other excuses not to stay in the house. And at night, the blond would lock his bedroom door and sleep with one eye open.

Yet Alfred made no move to attack him. In fact, he would greet his older brother whenever he saw him, even if it was just when Matthew was about to turn his back on him.

The paranoia and guilt was gnawing at him, along with the sleep debt he has accumulated. It wasn't that he despised Alfred; in fact a part of him was happy to see the boy laugh and play again. But the ethereal feeling he got when the toddler was present always made him feel as though he was being watched intensely; waiting for him to let his guard down.

"Thank you, lad. Alfred, I'll see you again soon," Arthur waved curtly at the both of them, but spent more time smiling at the younger before softly closing the door behind him.

The tension that ensued the departure was suffocating Matthew. "So Alfred…would you like something to eat?"

"It's okay, daddy gave me some steak before he left," Alfred answered, still playing with his wooden blocks. It may have been Matthew's imagination, or just the sleep deprivation getting to him, but the letter blocks were aligned to spell a word the boy shouldn't be aware of: DEATH.

"Ah, I see…well, just call me if you need anything," Matthew was about to rush up the stairs to his room when he heard the next few words coming from his younger brother's mouth.

"You must really hate me, don't you?" the hurt in Alfred's voice sounded genuine, accompanied by glossy blue eyes.

"What? No, how can you think that?" Matthew tried to sound assuring, even though he stayed near the stairs.

"You won't talk to me, feed me, or even look at me…is something wrong with me?" tears threatened to slip down the boy's cheeks.

"No…nothing's wrong with you, Alfred." Matthew knew he was lying to himself when he said this, but the crying toddler in front of him sent a pang of guilt into his heart. What was he thinking? Alfred was completely unaware that he died and here he was estranging the boy. Matthew strode over to him and picked him up to hug him.

"Then how do you explain the way you've been treating me?" the tears and whatever traces of sorrow left Alfred's features.

Matthew immediately dropped the boy, who landed perfectly on his two tiny feet.

"Is it because you're envious?"

"What?...Of what?" like Yao, Matthew was beginning to back away from the child.

"Of me, of how father would always give me more attention than he would you." Alfred replied simply, as if it was the most obvious answer.

"Lies!" the older retorted breathlessly. "Who are you?"

_This isn't Alfred…it can't be!_

The smaller blond chuckled humorlessly, mischief lurking in his sapphire eyes. "Matthew, don't tell me you can't even recognize your own little brother…I'm Alfred."

"How can you even say that?" Matthew couldn't help but snap.

"Tell me, dear older brother, how does it feel to be constantly overshadowed by me?" the child inquired, ignoring the latter's question. "To always be forgotten?"

"Papa does notice me. That's why he adopted me,"

"He only adopted you to fill a void…don't lie to yourself. You know that deep down you were happy when I died because then father would pay more attention to you-"

"No! I'm not jealous of Alfred…" Matthew was careful with how he addressed the deceased, for the person in front of him was not Alfred.

"I see it in your eyes, the look of contempt whenever father would quickly excuse himself from a conversation with you to check up on me. Admit it, you were glad I was dead!"

"No I wasn't!" the adopted was losing his temper. Fear and shock were slowly being replaced with disbelief and impatience. This was all because, contrary to his words, the demon child was right to an extent. The rising revelation was slowly seeping into Matthew's psyche.

_I have to get out of here…away from him!_

When he turned to the front door, he found that Alfred was already there, blocking it with his small body. Why didn't he leave sooner? The murderous glint in the boy's blue eyes was enough to send Matthew up the stairs and into his own room.

"Mattie, are we playing hide and seek?" he heard Alfred giggle from downstairs.

Matthew quickly locked his door and shoved his desk to block the entrance. The grating noise of the wooden desk as it was dragged across the floor and knickknacks falling off and breaking didn't deter the elder brother. When the blockade was in place, he quickly made his way to the window and opened it.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Alfred said from the other side of the door, the doorknob rattling violently.

He looked down from the window, and only then realized that he would not survive the fall. Thinking fast, he left the window open hoping that will fool the toddler into thinking he actually did jump, and hid in his closet. By the time he closed the door shut, the other one clicked open, and there was the screeching sound of the desk. Somehow, Alfred was able to push the whole thing aside and let himself in!

_Such unnatural strength…_Matthew thought as he leaned against the closet door and held his breath. From what he could hear, Alfred was rummaging through his things in the drawers of his desk.

"Come out, come out wherever you are~" According to the echo of the voice, Matthew could assume that the boy was now in his bathroom. Tiny footsteps made their way to the window. "Oh no! Don't tell me he jumped out…Mattie is such a sore loser~"

When the giggles and footfalls receded into the hallway, Matthew heaved a heavy sigh and remained leaning against the door for support.

_Maybe…it would have been better to jump off…That death would have been better…_

The blond shook his head at his own thoughts.

_No! I have to get out of this house alive and get help _

When he was sure no one was on the other side, Matthew soundlessly opened the closet door.

Icy blue eyes were looking up at him.

A yelp came from the older as he tried to slam the door shut again, but it wouldn't close completely because of a small foot wedged in between. The same sapphire orbs were leering at him through the slit.

"Silly Mattie, the closet isn't a good hiding spot,"

"Get away from me!" Matthew repetitively tried to close the door. But no matter how many times he bashed against the poor child's foot, Alfred would not move it.

"That's not very nice of you, Matthew." Alfred's voice was laced with malice.

A knife suddenly spliced through the door before the adopted was able to slam it again. Blanched in horror, Matthew swung the door wide open and scrambled out of the closet. Out of fear, he even pushed Alfred to the side while he was busy pulling the chef's knife from the kitchen out of the door.

A splattering crunch, followed by a pain-induced scream filled the room. Matthew looked back from where he was flat on the floor and tried not to gag. After rushing out of his hiding spot, the older had tried to make it outside into the hallway. But before he even took three steps away from the doorframe of the closet, Alfred already abandoned the notion of pulling out the knife and instead tackled the taller one down from behind and sunk his teeth into the other's leg.

He bit through it all – the denim of the jeans to the skin beneath and even further to reveal white bone.

Matthew was becoming dizzy from the heady smell of his own blood soaking the floorboards. There was also the nauseating sight of Alfred happily chewing on the piece of meat, crimson dribbling down his small mouth. Pain shooting up from his left calf snapped Matthew from his state of shock and he tried to get to his knees, only to have the toddler bite into his Achilles' tendon. Another scream ripped from the older blond's throat. Gritting his teeth against the pain Matthew swiveled around to kick the child with his injured leg, which sent another yowl into the otherwise quiet room.

Alfred stumbled back, a pout on his scarlet lips and fake tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mattie, why did you hit me?"

Matthew didn't even bother to turn around to face Alfred while he crawled over to the door to pull the knife out. "I should have done this a long time ago!"

As soon as he finished his sentence, Alfred was upon him, knocking the taller over on his back this time. Before Matthew could even raise the blade, the younger blond attacked the crook of his neck and tore flesh from that area.

The chef's knife clattered onto the floor.

Unfortunately, his senses were not failing him; he was still able to hear Alfred giggle above him, see his own blood all around him, dying his sweater an even darker shade of red, smell the scent of raw meat, feel the numbing pain, and taste the iron in his mouth.

_I'm going to die…_

The last bite having ripped out his jugular vein, it was only a matter of seconds before all the life left his body. But there was still something he had to do! The knife was so close to his shaking hand, all he had to do was grab it. However, Alfred's words dissolved his last resolution.

"Mattie, you're the best brother ever!" the younger nuzzled the unbitten side of Matthew's neck.

Matthew's vision was fading, but he was still able to see the sparkling sapphire eyes in front of him, the innocent smile on tainted lips.

_He's still Alfred…there's no way I can kill my own brother…_

For the first and final time since the boy's resurrection, Matthew felt something for Alfred…real emotion towards the deceased. A tear silently rolled down from the side of his eye.

_I'm so sorry…Alfred_


	4. Wiegenlied

**A/N:** Here we are, the last chapter. I'm so sorry if the fic was so short and it took me so long to get to the point...but I wanted to end it here since four is a nice number =D. The number represents death in Japanese culture (I think), and that I'm running out of E Nomine songs to match each chapter. Other than that, thank you to all who favorited this and greater thanks to those who reviewed!~

**Chapter 4: Wiegenlied (Lullaby)**

* * *

"I'm home," Arthur announced as he entered his quiet home. "Alfred, Matthew, where are you?"

"Up here, daddy," Alfred's faint voice traveled down the stairs. "Mattie had to go back to work somewhere."

Relief quickly flooded Arthur after hearing his son's voice; since the empty first floor and cold feeling upon stepping foot into the kitchen made him fear the worse. But then his brows furrowed a bit at a thought.

_Does that mean that Matthew left Alfred all by himself this whole time?_

The father went upstairs feeling a bit disappointed in his adopted son. He headed towards Alfred's room but stopped when he passed by Matthew's. The wooden door was closed, but it looked tampered with, its metal keyhole scratched with jagged slashes. Arthur opened the door out of pure curiosity, for the older one was never the type to be violent or destructive. The door opened well enough, and the inside was the same as what it looked like before he left.

Except for the closet room. There was a hole near the bottom of the door, and the darkness within the closet made it so that what was on the other side couldn't be seen. Now that he looked around with more scrutiny, Matthew's study desk was a bit crooked in its corner of the room. And the wood beneath him was darker. Regardless, the closet demanded his attention.

_What could have happened?_ He thought as he approached the door, wood chips adorning the floor around the area. With almost unreasonable caution, Arthur slowly turned the doorknob and pulled, only to yelp at what fell out – a pile of clothes.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" he heard Alfred a door down.

"N-nothing…" the father said just loudly enough.

_What am I getting all worried for? I'll just have to ask Matthew what this is all about once he gets back_

Remembering that there was still one son left in the house, Arthur abandoned his suspicions and strode over to Alfred's room.

"Alfred, dear boy, how have you been?"

"I'm fine." The blond replied simply. His back was toward his father, apparently preoccupied with something in front of him. "Mattie took good care of me…but I'm sad he had to leave so soon…"

"He should have at least called me at work," Arthur shook his head disapprovingly. Upon entering the room, something made his blood run cold. An oppressive, iron smell pervaded his nose and made the Englishman stop his advance toward his son.

Alfred must have noticed the footsteps halting, because he then turned his head to his father. "Don't be mad, daddy, it isn't Mattie's fault,"

Arthur couldn't quite figure out what it was that was in the blond's hands. "Alfred, can you tell me what it is that you're-"

_Dear lord…_

The boy must have read his mind, because as he turned his body to the side, he showed Arthur what was in his sticky hands. The pet rabbit he bought for Alfred was convulsing, its white fur dyed crimson in some areas. The thing was, most of it was not on the rabbit. Alfred was literally skinning the pet alive! As Arthur watched, Alfred resumed pulling on the skin clean off, revealing raw, red flesh beneath. When he was done, only little tuffs of fur were left around the rabbit's ankles. The now-visible muscles on the leg twitched and a bulging eye stared at Arthur.

"Son…what are you…" the Englishman didn't have the breath to finish his question.

"Don't be upset, daddy. Look, I got you real bunny fur~" Alfred presented Arthur a lump of the fuzzy skin, tinged red and pink underneath with little hands drenched in the animal's fat and blood.

X.X.X.X

_Something's not right…_

Francis pondered in his living room while taking a sip from the glass of wine in his hands. He raised the wine glass to eye-level, and swished the content around gingerly, staring at it as if it provided all the answers to his questions. But through the red liquid he saw that the front door opened on its own, a little blond toddler letting himself in. The glass slipped from the Frenchman's fingers.

"Big brother, I thought I'd-"

"Stay away from me," Francis was already on his feet, fetching a rapier mounted on the far end of the wall.

"But aren't you glad to see me again? Now that I'm alive, you can teach me all the French you want," Alfred teased, stepping closer to the other blond.

"You…you're the reason why Arthur is acting so happy and why Matthew is not coming to work…you're not the same petite Alfred," Francis hissed, ready to strike the boy.

The toddler was unfazed by the hostility. "Very good deduction, Francis. I never knew you cared so much for the both of them,"

"It's something _humans_ do,"

"I wonder…"

Before another word was said, Francis cautiously encircled the boy to stand behind the sofa he just sat on, never intruding the five feet radius he set himself apart from Alfred. He reached for the telephone sitting on the small stand next to the couch and dialed a three digit number.

During the whole situation, Alfred only stared innocently at the Frenchman.

"Bonjour operator, get me the police. This is-" the sentence was completely cut off when Francis toppled to the floor with an agonizing scream.

_The boy…he was just in front of me!_

In the few seconds of looking at the phone to dial for help, Alfred somehow managed to sneak behind the Frenchman and hit him with the wine bottle still left out. The vial broke in half, some of its glass shards stuck in the older blond's legs.

Red wine began mixing with red blood on the beige carpet.

"Ciao~ You have reached the police department, what is your situation?" the phone handle, still dangling off the table, spoke up.

"Help! There's an intruder in my house!" Francis tried to say as he bit through his own pain.

"Ve, can you repeat that? Your voice sounds faint, where is your location?"

"It's…" the words snagged in his throat when he saw Alfred walk up to the phone and pull on the cord connecting the speaker to the base. With a simple tug, the wire snapped in two.

"You bastard!" Francis forced himself up from the ground and picked up his rapier.

With the broken neck of the wine bottle, Alfred also raised his makeshift weapon and smirked. "En garde, grand frère."

The demon child never ceased to shock the Frenchman. In addition to being able to speak both English and French fluently, he was also good at fencing. At the beginning, Francis looked like he had the upper hand, but because of his injury he soon found himself backing up. The two clashed up the stairs, Francis walking backwards and Alfred forward. The boy, because of his height, effectively struck low, making it hard for Francis to parry the attack. Just as they reached the top landing, and when the Frenchman felt himself tiring, he saw an opening and successfully knocked the bottle out of the toddler's hand.

Alfred started to bleed, but simply waved his injured hand at Francis to shake off the crimson liquid.

The older blond jumped back to avoid getting any of the putrid substance on him.

_This is my chance – I have to finish him off!_

"Tell me Francis, do you really care for Matthew and Arthur equally?" the dark undertone was back.

"Of course." the answer was immediate.

"Perhaps you are misunderstanding me. I'm asking where your heart lies."

"I'm not obliged to answer your questions," the ache in his leg was taking a toll on him, and Francis had to lean against a door before making the preemptive strike. But he never once took his eyes off the boy standing in the hallway.

"Why am I not surprised? But I really am curious; are you interested in my older brother Matthew, or my father, Arthur?" When Alfred captured the look of surprise Francis tried so hard to suppress, he grinned wickedly. "I see, you're not so sure yourself…or rather, you're only using Mattie to worm your way to daddy!" the giggle that followed the assertion sent chills down the other blond's spine.

"How dare you address them that way!" It aggravated Francis how this…_thing_ was speaking of the two as if it was familiar with them.

Alfred continued to laugh derisively, clapping his hands together as a child would when amused. "Please don't change the subject, Francis."

"Enough!" the Frenchman roared, charging at the toddler. "You must not be allowed to live. But before that, tell me what you did to Matthew!"

The disarmed Alfred merely stood his ground, giving him a toothy smile.

_What the…?_

Francis did not finish his strike, the sharp end of the rapier never reaching the demon child.

But it was so close.

An inch away from his heart, the blade was being held fast by a bleeding hand. "Funny, I thought I was the one asking the questions," the demonic voice made Francis snap his head up from the spot he was gawking at. The spot on the boy that should be scarlet by now.

His hand was trembling now, only part of it because of fear; he was still trying to drive the steel into Alfred. But the young blond's grip on the rapier was firm. And with a flick of the wrist, the tip of the weapon was broken off. Francis had no time to cuss at the boy, for the toddler was already on top of him, wringing his neck.

"Why don't I give you a demonstration of what I did to Matthew?" With the broken tip of the rapier, Alfred began repetitively impaling the Frenchman's chest. Each stab was accurately placed to be between the ribs and away from the heart, puncturing both lungs. When the man beneath him no longer squirmed or screamed, he got up and licked the steel clean of blood.

X.X.X.X

"Francis you frog! Where are you?" Arthur barged into the Frenchman's house, failing to notice the oddity of the front door being unlocked. The only reason why he would even step foot into the accursed home was due to the fact that he can only assume that Matthew was staying here for the last few days.

_The lad didn't come home after work…surely the trip could not be that long. What if that perverse man did something to him?_

He also deducted that Alfred was here as well. Ever since the incident with the rabbit, Arthur still told himself that the boy only did what he did out of childish innocence. _He doesn't know any better_ was what the Englishman persuaded himself into believing, and continued to treat Alfred like the real and living son he was. A couple of days after Alfred told his father that he would take care of the dead rabbit's remains, the son soon began playing outside again. It was on one of those days that Alfred did not come back after Arthur called for him in the kitchen. He then went outside to check up on him, only to find that the backyard was devoid of a child and that the sky above was ashen grey – like the soil of the Graveyard of Angels.

Silence greeted Arthur as he let himself into the home. And the sight in front of him made him even more suspicious as to what happened here. Red blotches scattered about the carpet, the broken bottle of wine and telephone were enough to make him a bit nervous and worried for his adopted son. "Matthew, are you here? Francis?" A trail of the red wine caught his eyes, and it led up to the second floor. A part of him wanted to flee the scene that instant, but stubbornness and curiosity got the better of him, and he climbed the stairs two at a time. During the whole time, the house was silent as a grave.

…

The trail ended abruptly in the middle of the hallway with no indication as to where it was headed to.

"You frog…if this is some sort of sick joke…I swear I'll…" the unfinished threat came out strangled, fear slowly seeping into his pores. Arthur opened the first door he saw on the left. Similar to the time when he opened his adopted son's door, the Englishman did so slowly and carefully. But unlike that time, there was reason to be acting so prudent. The door, unlocked, opened easily, revealing a clean bathroom. The spacious room looked untouched, the single window on the opposite wall of the door drawn closed with laced curtains. A sink with its faucet turned off occasionally let a single drop of water fall into the pearl-white basin. Arthur opened the curtains to find the unusually calm view of the neighborhood. From where he was, the blond saw his own home across the street, and to his right, the wall of Yao's home.

The anxiety was killing him. Arthur knew something was wrong with this house, but the rooms he went into, even the Frenchman's bedroom, was…normal. The blond began opening the doors with less nervousness and more impatience. It was then on the right side of the hallway, behind a door that looked like all the rest, something finally stood out. But it was not something Arthur wanted to see.

Like the carpet on the first floor, there was a pool of wine in the middle of the empty room. Arthur really had no idea what it was used for, but based on the simplicity of it, it may have been a storage room. The only difference was that it didn't smell like wine in there. He went in, the wet carpet squishing underneath his boots. Other than the stain, there was nothing peculiar about the scene.

_Where can those two be? What happened here?_

Panic once again rose in Arthur when he realized that both of his sons were still missing somewhere, and that there was no time to waste. Abandoning his spot near the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of the two walking across the street, Arthur only stopped in the center of the room when he felt something slip down his cheek.

"Oh my god!"

When more of the substance dripped on his face, he looked up to the ceiling only to regret it instantly.

Cerulean eyes were staring down at him from above.

Francis, his neighbor, was hanging on the ceiling like a marionette. Pain and shock still etched itself on the crucified man's face as blood spiraled down the tips of his fingers to land on Arthur below.

Arthur was hyperventilating, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the slashed corpse, the intestines dangling in loops and curls like the designs on the curtains in the bathroom. Paralyzed with fear, the Englishman continued to stand in the middle of the room when the weight of the corpse snapped the strings supporting it; the Frenchman's body falling on him. "Get off me you frog!" Arthur screamed hysterically at the deceased, kicking and pushing Francis away from himself with much effort. When the unmoving body was to his side, apparently still staring at him in horror, Arthur scrambled to his feet only to retch in a corner of the room. He jumped out of his skin when he heard the phone conveniently placed inside the room ring after he emptied his stomach.

"Daddy, do you like the gift I got you?"

"…"

"Daddy, are you there?"

"A-Alfred…did you do this?"

"Yup!" the boy on the line said with pride. "It was hard setting it up you know."

Arthur turned his attention to the fallen Frenchman. Now that he had a closer look, it made him want to throw up again, but only dry heaves came out.

Hooks impaled Francis' limbs to keep him suspended, but the tattered ropes were not strong enough. No…they looked like they were tampered with to break on purpose. Multiple stab wounds still welled with blackened blood across Francis' chest, while other parts of his body were missing skin and flesh. They all appeared to be ripped out from him. He never noticed it before, but on the red carpet, tiny footprints led to the door he just entered through.

"Where's…Matthew?" Arthur could hear Alfred giggle through the phone.

"I have another surprise for you, daddy. Meet me in the attic~" The line went dead after that.

Arthur feebly placed the phone handle back on its stand.

His reality was finally broken.

X.X.X.X

"I knew you'd come, daddy!" Alfred pranced over to his father, giving him a quick hug before locking the door.

Arthur noticed the small action, but smiled lovingly at his son and took his hand. "Of course, now what is it that you wanted to show me?"

"This way," the toddler led the Englishman to the other side of the attic, away from the door.

On the far end of the small room, a spare bed was left in the corner along with a few picture albums on its stale blanket. There was no electricity up here, but Arthur noticed that the boy had lighted and placed candles on top of a vanity mirror stand. The wooden cabinet and mirror once belonged to his wife; Arthur wanted to save at least one memento even though he hardly went up to visit the piece of furniture. The piece of ashen sky seen in the small window above the bed showed unchanging, morbid clouds.

Alfred climbed onto the aged bed and awaited Arthur to sit next to him. The father did just that, and subconsciously began flipping through the album.

"Can you tell me what happened here?" Alfred pointed to one of the photographs in the album while leaning on his father's arm.

"Sure, anything for you, son."

"Yay! Thank you daddy, I lo-" The boy could say no more. The chef's knife, coincidently the same one Alfred held once before, was now lodged in his neck. It went right through, from the small of the neck to jut out near the collar bone. "Dad…dy…?"

"Don't you dare call me that," Arthur said with such venom that it made the boy jump off the edge of the bed. "You are not my son. Now tell me what you did to Matthew!"

Tears began streaming down Alfred's face. "H-he went to work, I-"

"And do you really expect me to believe that?" How he wished he could do such a thing. He wanted to believe that the person in front of him was his dear Alfred; that everything was back to normal. But after knowing that he killed Francis, he could no longer force himself to acknowledge Alfred's innocence.

The boy calmly peered into emerald eyes. "So, you're not as deluded as I thought you were," With that said, Alfred reached around and pulled out the blade without even wincing when blood began spurting from the wound.

Arthur cringed at the sight, but held his gaze on the demon child.

_What? Why isn't he dead yet? Did he even feel it?_

"You're a selfish man, Arthur."

The biting words brought the older blond back from his state of shock.

"Bringing me back to life when I already died, only to kill me again; do you enjoy seeing me suffer?"

"How can you even say that? I have always loved my son," Arthur was on his feet before he knew it, scowling at the shorter boy.

The toddler's next words were ones no father wanted to hear from his child. Pointing the bloodied knife at the blond accusingly, he said "You're a horrible father, a coward who can't accept his son's death."

"What?" the word came out as a whisper.

"Letting your son die, and pretending that all is right if you bring him back. Did you actually think there would be no consequences?" the question was punctuated with a kitchen knife thrown deathly close to Arthur's foot. It missed, but the tip slicked with the son's blood was stuck fast in the floorboard.

The father has had enough of this. Thinking quickly, he remembered what Yao told him, how he was able to kill the undead.

The Chinese moved away quite a while ago, ever since he saw Alfred walk the earth again.

Arthur dashed toward the vanity mirror and knocked all the candles over so that it set the whole place on fire.

Alfred tilted his head to the side. "Daddy, what are you doing?"

"Shut up. Go back to hell!" Was the last thing Arthur snapped at the demon child before turning his back on him.

"Wait daddy, please don't leave me!" he heard Alfred sob. "I love you."

It took all his strength to continue walking, abandoning the albums and memories. He felt a tear slip down his cheek.

_I'm sorry, my son_

"Papa, I'm home!~" Matthew sang, revving chainsaw in hand.

"What the-!" Just as he was about to leave the attic, his adopted son was right there at the doorway. "How…where were-"

Next to the new undead, the skinless rabbit hissed at Arthur before entering the room to lie on Alfred's lap.

"Surprised to see me eh? _I_ should be the one who's surprised, you actually remember me for once~" the older son said as he lunged toward his adoptive father.

Still baffled at what he was seeing, Arthur finally believed that this was all real when the chainsaw dug into his shoulder. The Englishman let out a howl of pain before kicking Matthew back. The adopted blond reeked of decay, the right side of his neck purple and black with flaps of skin around the wound.

_Was he brought back to life? When?_

"Nice one, Mattie." Alfred applauded from behind, sitting on the bed and petting the non-existent fur on his rabbit as if this whole thing was just a spectacle.

"Matthew…what happened…?" Arthur managed to groan out, clutching his now bleeding left shoulder.

"Wow, are you slow or what papa?" the deceased snarked, amethyst eyes twinkling impishly.

While the two struggled, Alfred began singing. "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,"

Arthur ducked the whirring blade and made for the doorway, only to find that it was locked from the outside.

"Take a key and lock him up, lock him up, lock him up. Take a key and lock him up,"

The smoke, flames, and blood loss were all making him dizzy. After barely dodging the weapon swung at him, Arthur knew he couldn't keep this up for long. He looked back at his baby boy, who was still sitting on the bed now ablaze, smirking at him. Was it just because of the heat, or did Alfred look like the Devil himself seated at his throne? The Englishman then turned his attention to his adopted son, leering at him over his cracked glasses with a depraved smile on his pale face.

_Was it all my fault…? Did they both die because of me? Did I turn them into these things? Did everybody die for my sin?_

"Eh?"

Suddenly, the father stopped running.

Matthew slowed and kept a safe distance from him. However, he still had his chainsaw raised with caution.

Arthur then turned to Alfred and walked to him slowly. There was no fear or hatred in his green eyes, his arm extended toward his son on the burning bed.

Somehow, Alfred understood Arthur's intention, and quietly climbed into his father's arms.

The Englishman once more pulled up the album and flipped back to the page he was on. "That picture was taken when…"

Matthew, confused, looked at Alfred, who gave him a knowing look and nod. Dropping the revving chainsaw, he approached his father and brother.

Making room for his oldest son, Arthur bit against the pain as the wound on his shoulder continued to bleed and fire licked the exposed flesh.

The three sat there, a family, looking at the open photo album while the house burned and burned.


End file.
